


Charming Pleasures

by katiecole0516



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Marking, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiecole0516/pseuds/katiecole0516
Summary: “Do it to me,” Hannibal murmured, almost inaudible, breath hot against Will’s cooling skin.Will stared at him. Waited for an explanation, but Hannibal offered none.“You want me to...stabyou?” Will asked, incredulous.“Preferably not, but if you wish,” Hannibal said, in the same soft murmur.A few more seconds of puzzled silence hung in the air, before Hannibal rose up to meet Will’s eyes.“I want you to mark me.”Oh.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 163





	Charming Pleasures

* * *

Will let his head fall back onto his pillow with a soft thump as the sweet tendrils of blissful release ebbed away, leaving behind a pleasant tingling that weaved its way through his body. It was another few moments before he managed to slow his breathing to a steadier pace.

“That was nice.”

A soft, amused chuckle escaped Hannibal’s lips in reply. The man had crawled up from between Will’s legs - a little shakily, Will was pleased to see - and was now squirming his way under Will’s arm to curl up beside him on the bed.

Will brought his hand up to Hannibal’s hair and gave a gentle tug, which earned him a contented noise as Hannibal turned to press his nose deeper into Will’s chest.

Sometimes, it still felt strange to Will to realize that he had the Chesapeake Ripper in his arms.

Hannibal opened an eye to glare in Will’s direction.

“I can almost hear you thinking.” Hannibal somehow managed to sound distinguished even with his lips smushed against Will’s chest.

“You like it when I think.”

A hint of a smirk formed on Hannibal’s lips. “I like it more when you can’t bring yourself to form a single coherent thought while I’m inside you.”

Will couldn’t help grinning at that. He couldn’t deny that his brain had indeed stopped functioning for a bit earlier, especially when Hannibal had started thrusting at a maddeningly ruthless pace.

“I’ll get you back soon.”

That won another chuckle from Hannibal, leading Will to believe that his promise to fuck Hannibal senseless had been the man’s intended outcome all along. For the sake of formality, he swatted at Hannibal in a weak attempt to convey feigned annoyance. Hannibal gave no acknowledgement other than to draw a hand up to rest over Will’s chest possessively.

They lay together like that for a while, with Will absentmindedly stroking his fingers through Hannibal’s hair and Hannibal mirroring the movement against Will’s sternum. Fingers rose to draw slow circles over the hollow of Will’s collarbone, then trailed down, going over each ridge in his ribs carefully, almost reverently.

Will watched as Hannibal’s fingers came to a pause at the gnarly line of raised flesh that cut across his abdomen.

“Just so you know, the correct emotion for you to be feeling right now is guilt.”

Hannibal glanced up at him sharply. Will grinned.

Hannibal’s gaze fell back to the scar, fingers resuming their gentle dance on Will’s skin, following the line all the way across, then back again, before finally letting his palm rest over the scar.

“Do it to me,” Hannibal murmured, almost inaudible, breath hot against Will’s cooling skin.

Will stared at him. Waited for an explanation, but Hannibal offered none.

“You want me to... _stab_ you?” Will asked, incredulous.

“Preferably not, but if you wish,” Hannibal said, in the same soft murmur.

A few more seconds of puzzled silence hung in the air, before Hannibal rose up to meet Will’s eyes.

“I want you to mark me.”

_Oh._

A number of thoughts cycled through Will’s head as he pieced together how this desire came to be. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, albeit in a way that only made sense with Hannibal.

“Where?” Will asked, intrigued.

“Anywhere you want.”

Will brought his knuckles to graze over Hannibal’s cheek, a touch that Hannibal immediately leaned into. “And if I said I wanted to mark your face?”

“Then everyone would see it and know I’m yours,” Hannibal said without pause. Their bodies were still pressed close together, and Will thought he felt Hannibal’s cock twitch against his thigh.

“Jesus, Hannibal,” Will breathed, running a hand through his own hair. “Is this- do you get off on this?”

In response, Hannibal moved to press his lips to Will’s in a hungry kiss. When they broke apart, Will caught Hannibal’s gaze and saw that it was rife with a yearning for Will to _empathize_.

Will swallowed, then nodded carefully. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that day, Will found himself lingering in front of the bathroom mirror, trailing a finger down his cheek where Dolarhyde had stabbed him. The cliffside felt like an eternity ago.

A faint line was all that remained of the ordeal, barely noticeable even when Will was clean-shaven. Hannibal had been very involved in caring for that particular wound until it had healed completely, and Will supposed he now knew exactly why.

* * *

A week passed by during which neither of them broached the subject.

Will, however, had been able to think of little else.

He wondered if it was just his imagination, or if Hannibal was indeed flaunting his body more than usual, taunting Will with the reminder that practically all of his skin was a blank canvas awaiting Will’s design. He found it hard to believe that he would have missed the way Hannibal’s back muscles moved underneath his shirt for so long.

As was the norm after dinner, they did the dishes in a comfortable silence, Hannibal scrubbing and Will rinsing and drying off whatever was handed to him. As Will took the last of the dishes, Hannibal turned away to wipe down the stone countertop, back muscles flexing tantalizingly.

Will managed to put everything away in its proper place just as Hannibal finished, and Will was able to reach for Hannibal’s arm at last. Hannibal drew closer, pliant, eyebrow raised in polite question.

“Here.” Will brushed a gentle thumb against Hannibal’s forearm, just below the man’s rolled up sleeve. “My mark.” Will paused, uncertain. “Alright?”

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal said without a moment’s hesitation, lips curling in a pleased half-smile. “Now?”

“Don’t you want to know what I have in mind first?” Will asked, though he suspected he could go as far as to deglove Hannibal’s arm and still find the man gazing at him with adoration.

“I thought perhaps you might want to keep me guessing. You do enjoy frustrating me,” Hannibal remarked, words sprinkled with a teasing undertone.

The thought _had_ crossed Will’s mind, but ultimately he’d decided against it. He wanted Hannibal to want it, before he did anything permanent.

“A bow,” Will said, tracing his intended shape against Hannibal’s skin. “And an arrow.” He drew his nail down Hannibal’s forearm in a line that crossed half of its length.

Hannibal studied his own arm where Will had touched it, as though he could already see the mark forming. “Not entirely random, I presume?” he asked, after several moments of musing.

“Think Greek mythology.”

Will waited as he watched Hannibal run through the possibilities in his mind.

“Eros,” Hannibal finally decided, with an air of certainty.

Will smiled. “Correct. I thought you might say Artemis.”

“I thought you might prefer to express love over predation,” Hannibal replied smoothly, returning Will’s smile.

“Yes, that, but also because you’re not _chaste_.”

“And whose fault is that.”

Will huffed an amused breath, before he sank into a thoughtful quiet. He traced the shape into Hannibal’s skin again, a little more firmly than before. “So,” he said.

“Yes.”

Hannibal left and returned just as swiftly, while Will was still scrubbing his hands. Soon, the immaculate countertop started to resemble a makeshift operating table, tools and supplies laid neatly in a row atop a white towel.

Will took his seat on the stool across Hannibal and watched as he cleaned and sterilized with expert ease, lending the occasional hand when Hannibal asked.

Finally, when all seemed ready, Hannibal handed him a thin, steel scalpel. Will took it, swallowing hard and envying Hannibal’s calm as the man laid his arm across the towel, palm up, waiting.

“I’ll guide you,” Hannibal said, before Will could voice any nervousness.

Somewhat soothed by Hannibal’s composure, Will nodded once and moved closer, steadying the scalpel against skin. He could see the mark in his mind’s eye, could imagine seeing it pulled taut across Hannibal’s arm every time the man used his dominant hand for something - chopping, dicing, grating. Killing.

Will let out a slow exhale and made the first incision.

Blood seeped out, a trail of red leading down to the towel where it diffused into a blot. Gauze in hand, Hannibal dabbed at the blood, unfazed.

“Unless you want it to fade quickly,” Hannibal said, closing his hand gently over Will’s and guiding him to press the tip of the scalpel against skin again. “You’ll need to go a little deeper. Like this.”

Another incision, followed by another trail of blood, then repeated. A pause as Will adjusted his angle to make symmetrical cuts. Hannibal guided Will’s scalpel again to peel away thin stretches of skin. The curves of the bow limbs were narrow enough that it could look like a ‘W’ with a shallow apex from Hannibal’s angle.

The bow strings were two neat lines, meeting sharply to form the nocking point. The arrow took shape next, pointed tip almost touching the crease of Hannibal’s elbow. The arrow’s shaft made for the longest incision, splitting the bow cleanly through the middle and ending with the fletching carved in short, delicate strokes. Will removed the last strips of skin, and then he was done.

The finished mark covered more than half of Hannibal’s forearm, a simple design with neat, straight lines save for the curves of the bow limbs. A feeling of possessiveness over Hannibal snaked through Will, growing fiercer the longer Will looked at the mark he had left.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal murmured, bringing a finger close to the edges of the arrow tip, careful not to pull against the skin. “You would pierce me with my own arrow.”

A smile grew on Will’s lips as he leaned down to brush Hannibal’s fingertips with a kiss. Hannibal responded with a gentle caress of Will’s cheek and a smile of his own, looking strangely contented for a man who was still bleeding from his arm. “Thank you, Will,” he said softly, before he drew back to clean and dress his mark.

Will remained perched on the edge of his seat, still uncertain of how to say what he wanted to say next. He toyed with the thought of saying nothing and just leaving things as they were, but the nagging feeling in his head grew to be unbearably loud.

“Eros and Psyche -“ Will paused, trying to find the words. “They had a happy ending,” he finished lamely.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, though his gaze didn’t leave his arm where he was carefully wrapping a bandage around the mark. “I’m aware. I had assumed that played a part in motivating you to choose this for me.”

Will drew his tongue across his lips, wetting them, then chewed pensively on his bottom lip as he eyed the scalpel lying on the towel, still tinged with Hannibal’s blood.

“Psyche is depicted with butterfly wings in art sometimes,” Will continued tentatively. “That’s her symbol.”

He looked up to find that Hannibal was watching him now. A thrill of excitement flickered in Hannibal’s gaze as understanding set in.

“Will,” Hannibal said chidingly, a delicious smirk forming on his lips. “All you had to do was ask.”

He laid his unmarked arm on the towel in the same fashion as he had done with his other arm earlier, palm up, invitingly.

“I must warn you that you may have to do the cooking for a few days while both my arms are...indisposed.”

Will fidgeted in his seat, a slight clench in his jaw. He gave a quick, nervous exhale, before he laid his own arm next to Hannibal’s across the countertop.

“I meant here,” Will said. “On me.”

Hannibal blinked, a flicker of surprise passing over his face, before it settled into something akin to hunger.

“ _Will_.”

The desire permeating Hannibal’s low tone sounded almost dangerous. Will held his gaze.

“Psyche. You can decide on the details,” Will said resolutely.

Hannibal ran his fingers over Will’s arm tenderly, and Will tried not to squirm away from the ticklish feeling. They stayed quiet for a long moment, Hannibal deliberating over the design, Will trying to pretend he wasn’t thinking about how he’d chosen the opposite arm just so that their marks could touch when they lay side by side, or atop one another, hands intertwined. He was drawn out of his reverie when Hannibal moved to set up the countertop again, evidently having decided on the form his mark would take.

“Shall I draw it out for you first?” Hannibal asked, as he cleared away the bloody mess of gauze.

Will shook his head, unconcerned. It seemed to please Hannibal, who drew Will’s arm towards him to clean.

“After all this time, you still manage to surprise me.”

The alcohol left a cool tingling on Will’s skin. It didn’t take much longer for Hannibal to settle in position, opposite him, scalpel in one hand, the other closing over Will’s wrist to hold him steady.

The cold, sharp point of the scalpel touched his skin, and Will gave an involuntary twitch. The blade left his arm instantly.

“Another day, perhaps?” Hannibal asked, fingers stroking lightly across Will’s wrist.

Will shook his head yet again. “I’m fine,” Will said. “Just...don’t stab me or anything.”

“I won’t,” Hannibal said, and Will believed him. He waited until Will gave a nod before he began.

The sting of the cut felt worst with the first incision, but not unbearable. Will watched as Hannibal worked the scalpel across his skin in quick, steady strokes, a certain grace and familiarity in his movements.

The pain soon subsided into a dull throbbing, and it became oddly fascinating to watch as blood seeped out, giving color to the pattern taking form on his arm, and then trickled down to form another pattern on their own on the towel beneath him. Will dabbed at the blood only when Hannibal paused to let him.

It was a more elaborate design then Will’s, delicate lines and curves giving shape to the veins and scales of the butterfly’s wings. The wingspan was narrow, edges harsh, serrated at some parts. At first it seemed like it would only be half the size of Will’s mark on Hannibal, but as Hannibal started on the hind wings, Will saw that they were elongated, tapering down his arm past half its length and ending with a slight curl. The butterfly’s body was short and close to the center of the mark. Will smiled when he realized that it was a stylized form of the Greek letter _psi_.

Hannibal closed off the butterfly’s abdomen with a tiny serif, then paused, head tilted, surveying his own work with a careful gaze.

“It’s beautiful,” Will murmured, turning his arm slightly to admire the mark at a different angle. The movement caused fresh droplets of blood to seep out from the newer cuts, glistening darkly under the kitchen light.

Hannibal smiled, satisfied, setting the scalpel down at last. “ _Chantons les plaisirs charmants, des heureux amants_ ,” he said lightly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Will’s wrist before starting to tend to Will’s mark. “We should heal in a few weeks.”

“No strenuous activities in the meantime?”

“Not with our arms,” Hannibal said smoothly. “Perhaps I shall use my tongue if the need arises.”

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Hannibal cared for both of their marks in a manner that bordered on pathological. When the bandages came off and Hannibal finally assented to the use of their arms without restriction, Will wasted no time in throwing himself at Hannibal. It was a feral coupling, rough shoves and heated kisses reciprocated with unbridled nipping and hair-pulling, and Will was delighted to find that, _yes_ , when he pinned Hannibal down by the wrists, their raised marks touched in a way that sent exciting shivers through his body.

When they were both spent, Will let himself flop down onto the sheets, limbs half-sprawled across Hannibal’s body, too weak to care about the mess they’d made just yet. Hannibal found just enough energy to press his lips to Will’s forehead, and then he, too, lay unbudgingly, letting Will’s curls tickle his nose.

“Tattoos would’ve healed faster, y’know,” Will said, once he had found his breath. He felt Hannibal’s annoyed huff against his forehead.

“That would have been boring,” Hannibal declared flatly.

“So...if I said I wanted to do it again,” Will said, tone carefully even. “On other parts -“

“ _Yes_.”

The eagerness in the way Hannibal said it almost drew out a snort of laughter from Will. 

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Another exasperated huff, before Hannibal turned to pull Will tightly to him. “ _Will_ ,” he said simply.

A smug, satisfied grin worked its way onto Will’s face. “Anything I want?”

“Of course, Will,” Hannibal said. “Anything you wish.”

* * *


End file.
